The Day the Streets Stood Still (11 page)

“Nah, never that, God,” Sean said in earnest, finally breaking their heated eye lock on one another. “Never that,” Sean repeated.

Club Azure was packed inside with wall-to-wall people. The DJ had everyone moving their bodies in unison to the extreme bass that was pounding through the clubs and making the walls shake. It was New Year's Eve and the crowd was ready to bring 2003 in with a bang. It was also Sean's twenty-first birthday and he planned on doing it big.

Sean and BG navigated slowly through the tightly packed swarm of people, taking in eyefuls of scantily clad women—young and old—who had probably saved up for months to buy the gaudy, ill-fitting outfits they wore and huddles of dudes rocking their obligatory diamond Jesus pieces—some fake and some real.

“You pack this shit out didn't you?” BG screamed into Sean's ear as their bodies were forced close together, flanked by Beans and Ak in the front and Ty and Freddie behind them.

“Everybody love a King Sean party. What did you think niggas was gon' do when they heard I bought out the bar tonight?”

“Bring they asses to the club,” BG and Sean said in unison. Then they busted out laughing.

“Shit, you better know it,” Sean joked, yelling over the music. BG laughed again, but it had registered with her how serious his statement was. Sean was the man in the city and it was widely known that he was sitting on major cake.

Sean's partnership with BG had grown by leaps and bounds over the course of the year since they'd had their first rocky encounter. Sean respected her business mind and she respected his status in the streets—a perfect combination that served their takeover well. Sean and BG had taken their collective businesses and merged them into millionaire status. It had taken them a little time to work on the friendship part of their partnership, but it was getting there.

Sean had shared with BG how much she reminded him of his mother, especially her smooth, dark skin and no-nonsense attitude. BG had opened up to him that she'd had a rough upbringing in the poorest part of Panama. She told him she had actually gotten her nickname—Black Girl—from being teased and called the name as a kid, because in Panama there was a lot of prejudice against darker-skinned people; therefore, she started referring to herself as BG, which was really a derogatory term. She thought embracing it showed how strong she was. Sean agreed.

Just as Sean and BG made it to the VIP section at the back of his club, a small commotion in the far left corner of the club caught Sean's attention.

Sean stopped for a few seconds, his abrupt pause causing BG and all of his crewmembers to look at him strangely.

“Everything good?” BG asked, looking at Sean with widened eyes.

“Yeah . . . yeah,” Sean replied with his head turned in the direction of the distraction. His eyes were trained in on something and he would not turn away.

“Yo, y'all go ahead inside VIP,” Sean told his crew, waving them on. He grabbed Beans's arm and stopped him from walking behind the velvet ropes that separated VIP from the rest of the club. “Yo . . . follow me over there,” Sean told Beans, nodding his head toward the gathering crowd in the corner.

“A'ight, what's up?” Beans asked, more interested in getting to VIP with all of the beautiful women than he was in following his boss.

Sean didn't answer; instead, he forged ahead as if the club was empty.

“Damn I guess it's just . . . let's go,” Beans said rushing behind Sean, hot on his heels.

Sean was pushing and shoving people out of his way as he steamed forward like he was on a mission. His chest was heaving up and down and his nostrils flared in anticipation that what the thought he was seeing might be true. The closer Sean got to his target, the clearer he could see that his initial suspicion had been correct.

“Fuckin' Sunny. I knew that was you,” Sean grumbled under his breath, the vein at the side of his temple pulsing hard against the side of his skull.

Although he hadn't seen or heard from her in almost a year, Sean could still spot his best friend anywhere. Sean could see Sunny clearly now and he didn't like what he was seeing. She was surrounded by at least eight dudes, who were all touching the intimate parts of her body at will. Sunny was the center of attention as usual. She was laughing and giggling like it was fine with her that these men were basically violating her.

“Get the fuck out my way,” Sean barked, pushing a few females and dudes aside. Once the crowd realized who he was, they began to part like the Red Sea giving Sean a clear path to Sunny.

“Yo! Sunny!” Sean called out. “Sunny!” But it was impossible for her to hear him over the ear-shattering music that was blasting. The men surrounding Sunny shot dirty looks in Sean's direction, but Sunny was too gone to even hear him or notice him right up on her.

“Sunny! Get the fuck up!” Sean growled, grabbing Sunny by her arm up off the lap of one of the dudes and pulling her out of the clutches of the other hungry dudes that had been taking advantage of her. Sean hadn't noticed until he was up on her that she was wearing nothing but a tiny piece of material that barely covered her butt cheeks and as a top, a thin sheath of cutoff spandex that barely made it over her ample breasts.

“Get off me,” Sunny slurred, squinting to see who was grabbing on her. “Don't touch me.” Her words came out so garbled Sean knew right away she was more than just drunk.

“Sunny! It's me Sean!” he shouted, grabbing her face trying to force her droopy, half-closed eyes to focus on his face.

“Ohhh, Daaaviid,” Sunny sang drunkenly. “My best friend . . . where you been at, nigga?” Sunny slurred and laughed. “Why you tryin'a break up my fun?” she garbled, finally focusing her dilated pupils on Sean's face.

“Whatchu doin' in here dressed like a trick, letting niggas put they hands all over you?” Sean snarled in her face. “You ain't stayin' in here! Let's go!”

“I'm . . . I'm grown. Now get the fuck off me! You don't know nothing about what I do . . .
King Sean,
” Sunny yelled putting a nasty emphasis on Sean's street name as she pushed him in his chest with all of her might.

“Sunny, this shit ain't up for discussion. You're drunk or some shit and you ain't stayin' over here like this,” Sean declared.

“You think you know me?” Sunny spat, viciously yanking her other arm away from him and pushing him again. Sean was shocked to find her like that; he was at a loss for words.

“Yo, Beans grab her and bring her on,” Sean demanded. Beans stepped closer to Sunny. Just then, Faheem stepped up behind Sunny. He smiled evilly at Sean.

“We got a problem, potna?” Faheem asked, trying to sound more American than Jamaican. He pushed Sunny behind him and shielded her with his body.

“Yeah, nigga, we do and what?” Sean growled, touching his waistband. “You supposed to be her man right? You got m'fuckas feelin' all up on her?” Sean gritted, the butt of his gun showing.

“When you gonna get it, nigga? She with me and she don't want you. It's been years now, li'l soldier . . . she don't want you. She don't want to be your friend . . . nothing like that,” Faheem said viciously, stepping a few steps too close to Sean.

“Fuck you, m'fucka!” Sean barked, pushing Faheem in the chest so hard he stumbled backward into Sunny and they both fell. Beans was all over it. He slid his gun out of his waistband and put it to Faheem's head. Beans's eyes were flashing with fire and his bottom lips was drawn in between his teeth.

“I will spill this dread nigga's brains right here with a million witnesses, King . . . on my word I ain't got no problem. Just give me the word,” Beans said through clenched teeth.

“Don't do it, Sean! Don't do it!” Sunny screamed and cried. She was sobering up real fast now. “For me! Just leave us alone! Don't do it! I don't want to go with you! I hate you! I'm happy with him! I'm happy with him!” Sunny cried out. Even she didn't believe her words, but she couldn't bring herself to give into Sean. She was too angry at him for that. Ever since they had been kids, Sunny would never surrender to Sean, but she had perfected the art of getting him to surrender to her.

“Leave me alone, Sean! I don't want to be your friend! I don't want to be with you! I want him! I want only him!” Sunny screeched through a waterfall of tears with the lies burning on her tongue.

Sean saw her tears, listened to her words and was immediately drawn back to their childhood. Sean tapped Beans on the arm calling him off.

“Nah, son, it is what it is. She wanna be with a nigga that's gon' let m'fuckas violate her . . . so be it,” Sean spat coolly, pulling Beans back. “We came to enjoy our new year and it's my day. This wannabe bad boy fake-ass Jamaican nigga ain't gon' fuck that up,” Sean proclaimed hawking a wad of spit down on Faheem.

Beans released Faheem with a hard shove and then kicked him in the stomach. Faheem doubled over and Sunny fell on top of him. The entire left side of the club was watching the spectacle now, but no one jumped back because everyone knew about King Sean and his crew.

“Fuckin' lucky . . . bitch-ass nigga,” Beans snarled at Faheem. “You ain't gon' always be this lucky though. We gon' see ya m'fuckin' ass again.”

Sean didn't even bother to take another look at Sunny, but he could hear her screaming at his back.

“You don't know shit about me and what I do! You don't give a fuck about me! You don't care shit about me, Sean! So what! You a millionaire! The same people you shit on going up you have to see on your way down, Sean! Remember I said that!” Sunny was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her words were breaking Sean's heart, but his face remained stony and unfazed.

“You ain't no better than me! We the same, Sean! We come from the same place! You just like me!” That was the last statement Sean heard Sunny say before he'd gotten so far away that the music had drowned her out.

“Fuck you, Sunny, and fuck me for ever loving you,” Sean mumbled under his breath.

When Sean returned to the VIP section, BG was sitting on one of the huge leather wraparound benches. The table in front of her was decorated with hundreds of expensive bottles of champagne, exclusive cognacs and a variety of flavored vodkas.

“You good?” BG asked as soon as Sean slid onto the seat next to her.

“Yeah. Ain't nothin',” Sean replied, his tone flat and uninterested. He immediately poured himself a snifter of Ace of Spades and threw it back.

“Who's the girl?” BG pried further. “Your ex?”

“That's nobody. We here to bring this New Year and my bornday in like kings,” Sean brushed BG's question off. He raised his glass and called his crew over. Just then Beans, Ty, Ak and Freddie moved aside and a gorgeous Korean model dressed in a fire engine red leotard walked over holding a beautiful, custom-made cake that was shaped like a throne.

“Happy Birthday, King Sean,” the exotic Asian girl sang. “Happy Birthday, dear King Sean,” she went on.

“Didn't I tell y'all niggas birthday cakes was for lame-ass niggas?” Sean joked. His mind was already starting to put Sunny aside.

“You ain't gotta blow out the candles, nigga . . . we got some bitches that's gon' blow you instead,” Ak yelled out. Everyone erupted in laughter.

“Money is all we need, niggas! Fuck all the rest!” Sean cheered, raising his glass out in front of him. His entire crew screamed their agreement. “To money!” “Money over bitches!” “Money!” they all yelled out. Sean stood up and blew out the candles on his gold crown cake, but one candle was left.

“You blow it out,” Sean said to BG. “It's the candle for good luck and shit,” he told her. BG came to his side and blew out the candle.

“That's what's up! To us!” Sean started laughing, but BG wasn't buying it. She had seen the hurt etched on his face when he had returned from the dustup with Sunny. BG found Sean's concern for Sunny attractive. BG couldn't help the deep feelings that were starting creeping up on her.

 

Sean and BG sat at the long, shiny, wood table inside the small conference room in a beautiful, picturesque $10,000-a-night penthouse suite at the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas. It was a few hours before the Oscar De La Hoya and Luis Campas fight, which Sean had purchased premium ringside seats to for the both of them.

“Yo, we ain't come to Vegas to discuss business,” Sean said exasperated after listening to BG go on and on about a new connect she had in mind. Most of the time Sean appreciated her work ethic, but when he was trying to have downtime, BG never stopped thinking about business and business moves.

“I'm telling you, King, God is marking shit up too much now. After all the money you made him, he wanna go up now all of a sudden? Niggas recognizing that his shit is more like eighty percent rather than that one hundred he was supplying when you first got with him,” BG told Sean, her tone serious. Sean reared back in his chair, stretched his arms over his head and shook his head left to right at her. He hadn't met another woman so driven since his mother. Sean couldn't front, there was something he found sexy about BG's constant tabs on the business side of things; however, he sometimes wished she had a chill button he could push.

“Nah, we good money with God. C'mon, B . . . God don't bother us, we don't bother him and shit is good,” Sean replied with finality. He swiveled his chair around. “Look around. We living like royalty and that's off of God. I can't fault that man in no way,” Sean said, opening his arms wide to bring his point home. He wasn't going to get into particulars with BG about his early promises to God and Adina, so he wanted to drop the subject.

“Side deals ain't my style,” Sean said.

“Look.” BG stood up and walked over to where Sean sat. She laid down a typewritten sheet of paper and slapped her hand on top of it so he would look at it. “This is just something for you to think about . . . something I worked up just in case you gave me pushback on this move,” she said, pointing to the information contained on the paper. “This is a comparison of suppliers with no names written here. God and his prices and his quality on the left . . . a new prospective supplier out of Miami and his prices and his quality on the right . . . You think about it and you do the math,” BG said pushing the paper toward Sean some more. She didn't wait for his answer or to hear what he had to say once he reviewed the sheet; instead, BG sauntered toward the suite door.

“I'll meet you in the lobby and we'll walk over to the main event together tonight. If that's all right with you . . . partner,” she said flatly. Sean chuckled at her tone. BG was a hard ass and she wasn't always easy to deal with, but she was starting to grow on him.

“And if you're betting tonight and in business . . . I hope you're betting on the right dude,” she said figuratively, letting the door slam behind her.

 

 

When BG finally showed up in the Mandalay Bay lobby, she was glowing . . . literally. Her gleaming ebony skin played up against the shocking white, close fitting, Nicole Miller wrap dress she wore. The dress looked as if it had been painted onto BG's body because it clung to her so closely and accentuated her slim, yet curvy frame. BG seemed to glide across the expansive hotel lobby; her white feathered Manolo Blahnik pumps giving her slender legs the right amount of lift to bring out her thick muscular calf. The diamond chandelier earrings that dangled from her ears were blinding as she walked toward Sean with the grace of a goddess. He couldn't keep his eyes off of his sexy business partner. In fact, he had to shake his head a few times to shake away lustful thoughts about her.

“Damn. I don't even wanna walk next to you, super star,” Sean joked when BG was close enough. Sean was joking because he looked just as dapper as BG in his custom-tailored Armani suit, monogrammed Gucci belt and Gucci loafers.

“You don't look so shabby yourself.” She smiled, putting her arm through his playfully. BG thought Sean was gorgeous with his smooth caramel skin and dark intriguing eyes. Even the small gap between his pearly white teeth was sexy to her and she was simply infatuated with the new neatly trimmed goatee and slim mustache he had been rocking lately. They walked through the casino together and definitely turned a lot of heads as onlookers tried to figure out what celebrity couple Sean and BG was.

“Stop right there and make a bet,” BG said, halting Sean's step while pointing to the roulette table. “I'm feeling lucky.” She winked.

“Nah, ma, I don't play roulette. I gamble on sure bets only,” Sean protested half joking, but mostly serious. BG pulled Sean by the arm over to the side of the roulette table that she had been pointing to. She unclasped the latch on her small white Christian Dior clutch and took out a handful of chips.

“Here, pick a number and bet. If you lose we go with my connect. If you win, we stay with God,” BG said, dropping the $10,000 worth of coins into Sean's right hand. Sean looked at her strangely and shook his head.

“You just not gon' let this go,” Sean said, reluctantly stepping up to the table. “You about to lose and then I don't want to hear no more talk about it,” Sean said sternly.

“A'ight. No more about it if I lose, but if I win . . . give me your word.” BG stopped him and looked him straight in the eye.

“A'ight, you got my word and my word is bond,” Sean said with sincerity. He was sure he wouldn't lose. Sean counted himself as lucky in life thus far, after all, he had scarcely missed the murder of his mother and his mentor, and both times he'd crossed paths with their killers right before he found them dead.

With that, Sean chunked all of the chips down on the red 16 in the middle of the roulette table. It was his grandmother's birthday number. Sean caught a few sideway glances from other betters at the table who shot him looks as if to say he must be crazy to bet all on one number with such a slim probability of winning.

“Feeling lucky,” he said with a smile, although his heart was jack hammering in his chest.

“No more bets!” the table matron called out, waving her hand over the table as if she was about to show everybody a magic trick. BG and Sean both watched the small white ball jump around the round number plate. BG had her ass cheeks clenched together tightly and Sean secretly had his toes balled up in his shoes as the ring finally started to slow and the ball fell, popping around to find its place in a number slot.

“Eight! Lucky number eight!” the table matron shouted.

“Yes!” BG blurted out, almost jumping out of her expensive pumps. Now, the other betters shifted their gazes from Sean to her; eyeing her strangely, as if to say why would she be happy her friend lost all of his money.

“Your word right?” BG clarified, a big smile flashing across her face.

“My word,” Sean said somberly, his hands shoved into his suit pockets and his jaw flexing feverishly.

“In the future . . . always bet on black,” BG said snidely, winking at him.

 

 

Sean kept his word and agreed to meet BG's new connect—a dude she called Reemo out of Miami. Sean didn't expect to cut a deal with Reemo because Sean didn't think anyone could do better than God's prices. No matter how many times BG had told Sean that Reemo was willing to front the heroin and premium lab made meth at half of God's price, Sean thought that was impossible. “How the fuck he gon' make his profit?” Sean had asked her sharply the third time she told him.

 

 

At the airport in Miami, Sean bent his lanky body into the passenger seat of a gorgeous, silver drop-top Bentley Continental. BG slid behind the steering wheel and looked over at him. She had felt him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, her left eyebrow raised.

“It's sexy as hell to have a woman driving me around in a whip that many niggas ain't even up on yet in 2003,” Sean said, flashing a huge grin. BG relaxed a little bit and chuckled too.

“It's boss as hell for me to drive a king around in my 2003 Bentley, so I feel the same way,” BG quipped right back, winking at him.

“Nah . . . say word. This shit ain't yours. This a rental, stop frontin'. Tell the truth,” Sean teased, knowing just how to annoy her.

“Nigga, you crazy as hell you think I would be caught dead driving a rental. I have a whip in every state I frequent . . . believe that,” BG clarified, a hint of defensiveness underlying her words.

“I hear that hot shit.” Sean shook his head in admiration. “Remind me to get like you when I grow up,” he said sarcastically. BG cut her eye at him, then busted out laughing. She knew he was trying hard to get under her skin like an annoying younger brother.

“Nah, nigga . . . we both about to grow up after this deal changes the game for us,” she replied.

As they drove down Collins Avenue with the thick, hot Miami air blowing on their faces, BG schooled Sean on the hot spots that celebrities frequented, the best places to shop and most importantly, the best places to party.

“We gon' celebrate tonight. Trust, my nigga, there will be a lot to celebrate for sure,” BG said as she whipped the Bentley past the glitzy part of the strip and into a mini mall parking lot toward the end of the strip. The mini mall had a few stores but BG pulled up in front of a nondescript, pale brick building with blacked-out glass windows in the front and no sign describing what type of establishment it was.

Sean craned his neck so he could get a good look at the building. It looked abandoned to him.

“What's up?” he asked BG, his crumpled facial expression telling the story of what was going on in his mind.

“Be easy. This is Reemo's hot spot . . . you know . . . strip club,” BG said jokingly as she grabbed for her door handle. Sean grabbed her arm halting her motion for a minute.

“Look. I don't know this nigga so don't get in there and act brand new,” Sean warned in a serious tone. “I don't have my people with me, but I can handle mines.”

“C'mon. You're my partner. This is business and that's it. You'll see,” BG assured.

With that, Sean exited the Bentley and straightened his jeans out, swiped his hands down the front of his Lacoste polo shirt and adjusted his Rolex on his wrist. He didn't take too kindly to having a business meeting in jeans, but given that the meeting was being held at a storefront strip club, Sean relaxed a little bit. He followed BG to the front door of the weird looking club.

“I'm warning you ahead of time, Reemo is interesting . . . to say the least,” BG said. “But that don't mean nothing when it comes to his prices and quality.”

Sean would quickly find out what BG meant. Inside the club, Sean looked around with wide eyes. The strip club's drab outside was nothing like chic inside which boasted shiny black and purple lacquer floors, sparkly silver walls and expansive, beveled glass mirrors throughout. There were four stages with shiny silver poles at the centers and a glitter covered DJ's stand at the back. The bar was beautifully decorated with colorful glass shelves behind it and nothing but premium liquors stacked up. Sean and BG walked slowly, he was taking it all in, imagining what kind of money an establishment like that could bring in.

“BG! What's up, girl?” a tall, slender girl wearing a lavender wig, clear plastic five-inch heels and a purple bathrobe shouted when she saw them. Sean gazed at the beautiful woman up and down.

“Dream! Hey, chica!” BG hollered in response, rushing toward the girl. They hugged and rocked back and forth like long-lost sisters being reunited.

“Girl, you look damn good! Leaving all this has served you damned good,” Dream sang, stepping back to take in an eyeful of BG's luxurious jewels, her oversized Chanel tote and her spiked Louboutin pumps. BG seemed a little uncomfortable, but she smiled through it. But, she could feel the heat of Sean's gaze on her face. BG could only wonder if Sean had caught on to what Dream had said.

“Um . . . Dream, this is King Sean . . . King, this is my girl Dream,” BG introduced. “We go way back and she's the sweetest female you'll ever meet.”

“Damn ain't he a tall drank of chocolate milk,” Dream licked her lips and said sexily. Sean's cheeks flamed over, but he kept his face stoic.

“He's off-limits!” BG snapped playfully. “C'mon before she rings the feed bell and you get surrounded by a roomful of hungry stripper bitches,” BG told Sean, pulling him along toward the back of the club.

“How you know I ain't wanna be surrounded by a roomful of hungry stripper bitches?” Sean whispered to BG. She shot him a look and punched him in the arm.

“Because we are here on business that's how,” she replied, a red flush of jealousy cropping up on her cheeks.

At the back of the club, BG pushed aside a bunch of silver and crystal hanging beads that were covering a doorway. She held the beads aside and let Sean pass through the doorway.

“Now that's some old school shit right there,” Sean laughed. “I ain't seen beads since the eighties.”

“Yeah, the girls been trying to get Reemo to take them shits down for years.”

Once BG and Sean passed through the beaded doorway, BG made a sharp left into a long, dimly lit hallway. Sean followed her, looking around a bit leery.

“Sure is a lot of m'fuckin' doors in this bitch,” he grumped. Sean hated closed doors.

“What's strip club without champagne rooms?” BG answered, as if to say “duh.” Just then, Sean passed one of the doors and it was slightly opened. He peeked through the crack as he passed, only to see a beautiful Latina with her lips sealed around a dick.